Sanity Slippage!
by LJacks121
Summary: Sam thinks Dean is losing his mind, and finds out... CONTENT WARNING: Sex, incest, violence, language. A/N: SamxDean slash, could get messy. Follows canon story very closely, but offers a slightly different look at the psychology of incestuous love. Shifts perspectives between Sam and Dean; no omniscience.
1. Chapter 1 (S2E03)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 3 – "Bloodlust"]

**Author's Note: This story makes many references to episodes listed at the beginnings of chapters, but does not include episode recaps/explanations - If you haven't seen these episodes, the plot won't make as much sense.**

…

Sam had felt reassured, confident even, after Dean had let the nest go. Dean would be okay. Now he wasn't so sure.

It had been a werewolf. Sam didn't know where Dean had gotten the silver knife, but he'd felt incredible déjà vu as he watched his older brother torture the thing, trying to extract information about its companion. Dean had only stopped when Sam bellowed his name. He had given him a warning look, but it wasn't enough. There was more to say.

Driving back to the motel, Sam had tried to speak his mind. He'd started by saying Dean's name softly. Dean had spat back, "What?" He probably knew what Sam was going to say but... somehow it had to be said.

Dean got out of the car and slammed the door. Sam sat in the passenger's seat, gathering his thoughts. Dean didn't wait for him.

He had to get Dean to talk. But if he put his guard up right away, there would be no chance of them getting anywhere. And Dean would be pissed until they found something else to kill, after which the argument would be dismissed with another "you're still a pain in my ass" and Sam would again lose the courage to discuss it.

The red light from the motel's sign began to give Sam a headache.

_I'm a coward,_ he thought, looking at the peeling number 13 on the door Dean had left slightly ajar. _But what if... Dean could lose his mind like this. He doesn't trust me with his feelings, always acting the role of an 'older brother.' What if he stops... No. Think, Sam. When we were driving through Iowa he hinted at how he'd opened up to Gordon in the bar... the bar. Would alcohol loosen his tongue? Or would it still be me? We seldom drink together, but it's worth a shot. We could do shots! No, that would be too obvious. Beer's more casual. Or whiskey... is whiskey casual? Stop it, Sam. Just take action before you lose your nerve. All you have to do is figure out what's going on in his head, then decide the rest from there. Don't over-think this._

Sam closed the door softly, and stood next to it, tentative. Dean was sprawled on the bedspread, searching on the laptop. Their dad's journal was lying next to him.

"What are you up to?" Sam started. _Very smooth, _he thought.

"Lookin' for Winnie the Pooh." He didn't look up from the screen, where he was scrolling through obituaries.

"So uh, I thought I'd go grab something. Do- do you need anything?"

"Like what?"

"I thought I'd grab some... whiskey."

"Whiskey?" Dean looked up, frowning slightly. _Damn his stare is piercing._

"Yeah." Sam stood his ground. His brother had no business telling him off for something like that.

Dean looked at him for a second. His look was unreadable, but there seemed to be a question in his eyes. Then he shrugged. "Okay," he said, and went back to his search.

Sam nodded awkwardly, not even flinching at the way Dean gave permission like he was still a child. He was sitting outside in the car before he realized he didn't have the keys. He went back in, careful not to let his frustration show.

"I uh, forgot the keys."

Dean fished them out of his pocket and tossed them. Sam fumbled. "Ah..." he exhaled, bending over to pick them up.

When he looked up, Dean was looking straight at him, brows furrowed. "Sammy, what..."

"It's nothing." Sam said, too quickly. He winced internally.

Dean got out of bed and padded over to him. "Look Sammy... you good? You've been quiet since Iowa."

Sam looked at him incredulously.

"Dude, come on. I can tell."

"No," Sam said.

"What, all of a sudden you can't trust me? I'm still your brother, man. If it's about what happened back there-"

"No! That's _not_ what it is! Dean, I've... I've been having nightmares again."

"So that means _whiskey_?"

"I thought... maybe if I sleep deeper, I won't remember them."

Dean stared. _He doesn't believe me, _Sam thought. But then, to his surprise, "Heh... I guess that's not a bad idea. You going out or something?"

"Well... not alone."

"I saw a grocery store about half a mile down."

"Why don't you come with me?" Sam's voice was low.

Dean looked at him again.

_Is he on to me, or is he doing that to make me _think_ he's on to me and trick me into telling?_

"Yeah all right," Dean said casually.

_Maybe it's the latter. Wonder where he picked that up_, Sam frowned.

_..._

They pulled up to a seedy joint just as it started to rain. Dean pushed on Sam's back, telling him to walk faster. Sam walked more slowly on purpose, and Dean swatted him. They rushed through the door, grinning.

The bartender eyed them sanctimoniously.

Dean spread his hands, instigating. "What?" he challenged the bartender.

"... I'll get to you boys in a minute..." The bartender turned and started towards a woman seated in a darkened corner, muttering the rest under his breath: "_...yeh couple a' queers_."

Dean heard him. "You say that to my face, you son-of-a-"

"Easy, Dean," Sam said softly, restraining him.

Dean shrugged him off and plopped down on a bar stool with a clatter. He gazed at the oily surface of the bar in a relaxed but slightly murderous way.

...

Dean drank quite a bit. Sam didn't say much, still nursing his first one, but let Dean chat with a busty lady sitting two seats over.

Then, suddenly, "Dean. Dean!" he hissed.

"What? What is it?" Dean followed the direction of Sam's eyes to the figure in the far corner, sitting by herself. She was looking straight back at them and her eyes-

They were completely black.

It was as if her pupils had dilated past the irises and engulfed even the whites of her eyes.

"Shit," Dean said, and lunged in her direction. She slid lithely out the window, with Sam and Dean on her tail. They splashed down into a rainy alley.

"Which way did she go?" Dean asked.

"Behind you!"

Dean turned just in time to get punched in the face, which sent him flying backwards. She held out her hand and he was pinned to the brick wall.

Sam held a gun to the back of her head and thought, _Hail Mary._

She laughed. "A gun won't kill me. But I guess you boys know that."

"This isn't just any gun," Sam said, setting his jaw and cocking it.

Suddenly her eyes rolled back and a black cloud was ejected from her mouth, skyward. The woman dropped, but Sam caught her.

She blinked. "What?" she choked.

"It's okay. You're going to be okay."

...

Dean rolled his eyes. "Pretending you still had the Colt... I can't believe she bought it."

Sam grinned. He knew Dean was impressed.

"Still wanna get that _whiskey_?" Dean licked his bottom lip teasingly.

"I'd say you've had enough."

"Yeah, but... you haven't!"

The black Impala skidded off into the rain.

...

Dean punched his little brother in the arm, but lost his balance because of it. Sam, who had barely had any, caught him and guided him safely past the peeling number 13. Impulsively, perhaps hoping to win brownie points, he pressed on Dean's chest, forcing him to sit on the front table while Sam untied his shoes for him. _Maybe he's in the mood to talk_, Sam thought. This was optimistic considering the way Dean had stumbled up the stairs.

Dean raised his eyebrows, but let him continue. He would not, however, let Sam guide him to bed. Sam sat down on the bedspread by his knee.

Dean held up his hands. "The fuck? You're all prince-charming with Miss _I was just possessed so let me be as cute as possible_, and now you're trying to make up for it?" He was grinning slightly, but his eyes said he was only half-joking.

"Ever since Dad... Look I don't know, man. I just want you to feel like you can talk to me."

"Oh, so that's what this is about. You're such a girl, Sammy." Dean turned on his side, pressing his face against the pillow and pushing into Sam's back with his knee.

"Do I still get that free punch?"

"Okay, all right, all right, I'll share my feelings!" Dean sounded about as sarcastic as was humanly possible.

Sam waited expectantly, not entirely sure of where this was going.

"Well I'm not going to say it _out loud_, it's a secret!" Dean beckoned him closer with his hand, smiling a little _too_ happily. His posture was almost suggestive.

Sam regarded him seriously. "You're drunk, Dean." Dean drank regularly, but getting drunk to the point of acting silly didn't happen often. _Great_. _My plan worked a little _too _well, now he can't talk at all. _He rolled his eyes at himself, but tuned back in to hear Dean speaking._  
_

"...ah, hell, Sammy, it's not like I'm gonna say anything you don't already know. But, hey, if you don't wanna hear it..."

Sam immediately leaned down to hear the secret.

Dean took a deep breath.

"WE'RE BROTHERS!" he yelled in Sam's ear.

Sam jumped back, and massaged his ear. He frowned, and said, "Dean what the fuck?!"

"Sorry, I had to get your ear ready for what I'm actually about to say." He didn't look sorry at all.

"Get up, I'm taking my free punch now." Sam grabbed him roughly and pulled him up. Dean shoved his hand off and elbowed him in the chest in one fluid, expert motion, sending him down onto the bed with a soft thud. Dean stood dizzily over him, and Sam kicked his shin, pulling himself up so he could grab Dean and pummel him. Dean blocked his first shot but his second glanced off his mouth. It hadn't been hard but his tooth cut the corner of his lip, and tiny beads of blood welled up.

Sam hesitated.

In the moment of hesitation, Dean threw him onto the bed again and straddled him, fist raised over his head. Sam blinked up at him.

"Ah, fuck." Dean said, and lowered his fist. "You really wanna hear the secret?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I'm still not gonna say it out loud. So come closer," Dean said, unsmiling.

Sam looked wary.

"Oh come on, I promise I won't shout in your ear this time."

_I'm a fool if I fall for this again_, he thought. But, on the off-chance that Dean was going to confess his thoughts, Sam propped himself up awkwardly, hips still pinned, hands splayed behind him. He leaned in once more.

"Fuck you," Dean whispered.

"What?" Sam said, and started to pull away, but Dean grabbed him, keeping him close.

Sam looked into his eyes, a little startled. He thought, _what...?_ They angle of the lamplight across Dean's face made his irises look clear, his face, beautiful, almost gentle, lips slightly parted. But there was something wild in his brother's expression, something he couldn't quite place. Recklessness? Was this the look of a man on death row? Someone who had given up, convicted themselves? Sam didn't know what was going on. _Where'd he get eyes like that? _Sam wondered vaguely. He didn't know what Dean was playing at, but he had a bad feeling about it.

Dean pressed one hand into Sam's chest, right where his heart was. It... ached, somehow. Then he leaned toward his ear, hopefully, this time, to tell him what was on his mind.

Dean's long eyelashes brushed his cheek lightly, sending a tingling sensation down his neck. Slowly, so slowly that Sam was aware of an increase in his own heart rate and respiratory rate, Dean turned to face him, so close that their noses were almost touching. Sam had just enough time to think, _what kind of game is this?_ When Dean moved closer, he pressed into him with his whole body.

Dean's lips were very soft, and tasted like salt.


	2. Chapter 2

...

He kissed his brother gently at first, giving him ample time to pull away. But Sam was definitely kissing him back. As the kisses got deeper, he noticed how warm the inside of Sam's mouth was, how he sat up straighter, no longer leaning back on his arms but holding Dean's hips tentatively, pushing back up against him.

_Ah, I hate waiting,_ Dean thought as he slid his hand down Sam's chest, feeling the firm musculature through his soft t-shirt. He felt Sam stiffen below him.

"Wait," Sam said, pulling away. His pupils were dilated, breathing was heavy, and he looked... in pain. _Fuck, _Dean thought, still straddling him. Sam was clearly turned on, so...

"What do you want me to wait for? Hell, everyone thinks we're already doing it."

"So that means we might as well?!" Sam set his lips into a thin line, eyes focused on some patch of air in front of Dean's navel. Dean could almost hear him thinking.

_Oh I bet this is driving you _nuts,_ isn't it, _Dean thought. He smiled. "Yeah," he answered nonchalantly. Then he added, "you look like you want to."

Sam launched himself upwards, grabbing the inside of Dean's knee and flipping him onto his back. Dean's breath caught at the sight of Sam panting, nostrils flared, pressing him down. _There's what I want to see, _Dean thought. _But damn, does the room have to spin around my head like that... stupid fucking room... Ha... Sammy's literally going to be a pain in my ass... _Dean started to chuckle softly as the line he'd used countless times took on a new meaning.

Sam stared at him in disbelief.

Dean squeezed his thighs together, holding Sam's hips still. He took one of Sam's hands (Sam looked on in confusion) and guided it downward. Sam realized what he was feeling, and pulled back. In a second he was off the bed and backing away a few paces. He looked like he was searching for the right words, cheeks flushed with... anger? Lust?

After a second, "You've really, seriously lost it, Dean! This isn't..." Then he looked tormented. He touched his lips, which were still tingling from how gentle that kiss was... he looked down at his fingers and saw Dean's blood. Dean's lower lip was still bleeding. Then he seemed to realize he was physically turned on, and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door.

Dean lay spreadeagled. He vaguely thought that he should release the pressure in his lower abdomen. He touched himself halfheartedly.

...

Sam was in the bathroom a long time. When he finally emerged, Dean was standing in the doorway, looking more sober.

Dean blocked his path. _Better to settle this now, _he thought. "You never really punched me. Come on, hit me once, nice and hard."

"_That's _what this is about?"

"Yeah, come on. You'll feel better, I promise." Dean looked directly at him.

"That's why you..." Sam lowered his voice, "you _kissed _me?!"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, right, exactly. Now hit me, Sammy!"

Sam gritted his teeth. "No, Dean," he said, and brushed past him. Dean felt the air go out of his chest. He closed the bathroom door and looked at the familiar setup blankly for a second before turning on the shower. He twisted the knob all the way to "H."

...

Sam made it obvious he was going to bed, and lay down on the other mattress, facing away from him. But what Dean heard next was as clear as if Sammy were right next to him.

"I hope Dad's not a spirit, because if he saw what we just did..." Sam's voice broke.

Dean closed his eyes. "Dad's gone, Sam. He's already moved on. I don't have to be _psychic_ to know that."

Dean didn't mention his gnawing suspicion that John Winchester might be rotting in hell.

He lay awake for a long time.

...

He had only just dozed off when a sudden weight on one side of his bed caused him to roll slightly. He had the strong sensation that he was falling very fast, about to hit the ground as he woke up. He took a second to orient himself, then looked at Sam with relief.

"Mm, hey. What's up, Sammy?" He rubbed his aching head.

"Dean... about earlier," Sam started, softly.

Dean froze. He suddenly felt very awake.

"Look Sam..."

"Yeah?"

Dean was struck by Sam's posture: open, respectful, listening. "I was pretty smashed earlier. I did some stupid things. Just wanted to say I'm sorry and... it won't happen again."

Sam paused. "...Right, of course not," he said, looking a little crestfallen.

Dean squinted at him. _What the hell is with that look?_ he thought, getting up.

Before he could walk away, Sam hugged him, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

"What the fuck, Sam," Dean growled, struggling a little, but Sam held him firmly. After a minute he hissed, "I'm not a woman, Sam, so you can stop that." Sam didn't pay any attention. Dean struggled a little more, but then gave up and stood there, making a face.

Sam's body felt big and warm against his back. _Goddammit_, he thought as Sam nuzzled the back of his neck. _God-fucking-dammit. _He got goosebumps as Sam moved his hips closer. "Look, I have to pee."

Sam let go. "I think we should go see our family," he called after Dean, who stalked off.

_What family. You're my only family,_ Dean thought._  
_

_What the hell did I start?_


	3. Chapter 3 (S2E04)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 4 - "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"]

...

He kept having this dream where he was digging in the earth with his hands, clawing into the clammy soil like some savage beast, ripping up roots, flinging buried bullets and charred bones. When he got to the core of the planet the soil became greasy and hot, scalding his knuckles, but he kept digging. He unearthed his father's face. He must have looked half-wild - John Winchester stared up at him with a mixture of recognition and concern. He was ready to grasp his dad's hand, to pull him out of the pit, when John's eyes turned yellow. Dean was paralyzed by those eyes; he felt his knees sinking into a churning mass of flesh and chains. He was going to fall in, and the yellow-eyed demon would laugh a cold, manipulative villain laugh. Suddenly, "Stairway to Heaven" blasted through some loudspeaker down below, and they both looked around, startled by how fucking random it was. When Dean looked back, his father's eyes were warm and brown again, but they weren't right. They were choking, blistering. And they said, _You should have killed me then, Dean, and spared me this agony. You disobeyed me. _Then his eyes squeezed shut in pain, and he was consumed by the boiling, flowing redness. Dean woke up with those eyes burnt into his retinas.

The wildness he had felt after Dad's death was wearing off. In its place, Dean felt a hollow, jarring sensation that everything was _too _real.

It would have been easy to lose it. Hell, if anyone had ever had an excuse... but he didn't. He had to look out for Sam.

_Sam... I'm sorry. I fucked up, didn't I?_

A ghost of something, feather-soft, had crossed Dean's lips that night. That one awful night... the night after they'd pulled off the road. They'd leaned on the front of the Impala in the chilly mountain air. Around them, the cliffs darkened into silhouettes and the valleys were obscured by shadow. Dean had bared his soul and apologized for everything.

His lips still tingled. Nothing had happened for three days. The tension between them eased. They were brothers again.

_Is it over?_

...

Three nights ago, they had barged into the motel room, hardly bothering to close the door. The day had been intense, what with the heart-to-heart and no upcoming cases to distract them. They were still covered in zombie blood and grave dirt, and both had automatically started to strip and head for the shower. They met in the narrow alcove outside the bathroom door, and stared at each other stupidly for a second. Then Dean had smiled playfully, saying _I got here first. _Sam bit his lip, but let Dean go, waving him into the bathroom with a smirk.

When Sam got out of the shower, Dean was still awake. He felt his brother come over to turn off the light, felt his cool shadow on his closed eyelids. Then Sam sat down on the edge of his bed for a minute.

Dean had pretended to be asleep. He'd relaxed his eyelids and willed his breathing to remain slow and regular. He'd let his knuckles rest casually where they'd been pulled down into the dip Sam made when he sat on the edge of the bed. He'd calmed his muscles under the canopy of that sudden darkness. He wasn't even sure it was a kiss. Perhaps it was a shadow, or a dream.

But he felt responsible.

...

_Baring his soul._ It was stupid... People shouldn't have to _say _those things... The car ride from that mountain road had been so quiet that Dean had actually pondered the acceptable limits of awkwardness and sentimentality. And he didn't do that wishy-washy, theoretical crap.

After being appropriately serious for way too long, Sam had relaxed. He'd gotten what he wanted. They'd "sung their Kumbaya-yas," so to speak. So help him, Dean was compelled by some powerful force to make sure Sammy always got what he wanted. Pain in the ass.

As they drove through flat country, Sam had rambled on about their fucked up childhood and about not being able to have a steady relationship with anyone else while they were on the road. Dean had only been half-listening... whatever the point was, he was too worn out to care.

Then it had gotten weird.

Sam started saying how he needed to be Dean's "older brother" sometimes. Dean had protested, because, dude, birth order, so Sam went into this whole speech about how Dean needed a refuge, someone to talk out his problems with... he could have sworn Sam even said something in Latin, like "conflicting emotional imperatives" or some shit... Which was freakin' bizarre, since Sam was usually very in tune with Dean's... whatever. But right now, everything Sam was saying was way off. He was getting confused by that emotional crap. Dean was the oldest, and he was going to take care of Sammy. End of story. Three minutes later (when Sam was finally done), he looked disappointed again. So much for all that talking.

Dean was pissed for at least an hour, until Sam gave him a sympathetic look which pushed him over the edge. They exchanged playful blows and got something to eat and checked into the motel.

Their lips had barely brushed. Dean hadn't had time to shiver under Sam's cool heat before he was gone, over to the other bed, his own space. So what was that? A goodnight kiss?

_What the hell?_

...

Dean's body hadn't reacted the way it should've to a chaste kiss from his little brother.

_I'm going to hell for this. Well, Dad, save me a seat. You're never gonna believe what I did... No, nothing stupid and heroic... Nothing like you. That's what you did, isn't it? Jeez, Dad, I was never... Shit._

_You know how you told me to take care of Sammy? Boy did I ever screw _that _one up._

He didn't actually spend time worrying about this stuff, but if he had, there would have been two things on his mind. Well, besides the world needing saving and Dean's personal responsibility to avenge his family by destroying that yellow-eyed creep.

First, Dean's temporary lapse of judgment had given Sam some dangerous ideas. He may have rejected Dean's advances on that booze-clouded night, but he'd woken up in Illinois with a different attitude. Sam may as well have stood up and said, _Why _don't _we do this? Not like our lives could get any weirder._ Dean didn't have to ponder the state of things to know that he wouldn't let them go _there. _But, as much as he'd like to ignore it, Sam had this quiet persistence... What a pain in the ass.

Second, Sam didn't need to worry about Dean's mental stability. At least, not anymore. But there was still a terrifying question in the back of Dean's mind...

_What the hell would he have done without Sam?_


	4. Chapter 4 (S2E05)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 5 - "Simon Said"]

...

It had been a long day, but they stayed up for hours anyway, drinking and discussing hunting, psychics, and demons with Ellen. She was a great source of info, and Sam found that he really enjoyed her company. Ellen loved Jo fiercely, which Sam admired. He liked Jo, too, though he couldn't help but get kinda pissed when he thought about her flirting with Dean; admittedly because she was pretty and... energetic. And maybe he thought she could match Dean's fast-paced lifestyle more naturally than he could. But it didn't matter - Dean had been downright cold to her, treating her like a kid with a crush. Which was fine by Sam.

As the alcohol severely slowed Sam's cognitive processes, he felt a big smile creep across his face. The Roadhouse had started to feel a little like home.

The night wore on. It was 0354 when Ellen was done with them. Sam looked at Dean sleepily, wondering if he could still drive. Then Ellen pressed a key into Sam's palm with a wink.

"Stay the day, you look tired. Take a good long rest before you hit the road again. It's the third door on the left, in the back." She paused, then added, "Nobody should bother you."

Sam's brow creased with confusion, but he smiled and nodded thanks.

"Yeah, thanks Ellen." Dean said softly.

"Don't mention it." Her voice was a little husky. Sam wondered again what her relationship had been with John Winchester.

...

They tried to walk to the room like adults, but hardly made it through the door.

The combination of alcohol and lack of sleep had made Dean ornery. Sam turned around to look at Dean's face while they were walking, which was stupid because Dean slammed into him. Dean must have interpreted it as Sam hitting him or blocking the path intentionally.

Dean took a swing at Sam but missed and almost fell over. Then he spread his hands like a performer, playing it off with a big, cute smirk as if to say, 'Ta-da! That was completely intentional!'

Sam stopped in his tracks. _So charming... it's infuriating, _he thought.

Suddenly feeling exposed and horny, Sam unlocked the door quickly with one hand, slinging his other arm, cast and all, around Dean's waist, dragging him across the threshold, and slamming the door. He felt Dean's pissed-off, shocked expression trying to burn a hole through him. He ignored it, leaning his head back against the door in relief. The job didn't always leave him enough quiet time. In order to re-charge, Sam needed everyone to go away, except maybe Dean. He was pretty relaxed around Dean.

He looked over at Dean fondly. Dean was giving him a death glare. _Yeah, he probably doesn't like the way I just manhandled him, _Sam thought. That look only made him hornier, though. Dean was just so little... and angry!

Sam felt pure, genuine happiness wash over him. _Or maybe it's the alcohol?_ He couldn't help but grin. He grinned at Dean's angry face until it softened. Dean closed the distance between them in one step, and, grunting in annoyance, shoved Sam's head against the door with his palm, covering his eyes. It was meant to be rough, but didn't carry much force. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Dean stripping naked, spreading out in front of him. He wanted Dean to beg for it with those pretty lips, god... Instead, he wrapped his fingers gently around Dean's forearm and took Dean's hand off his eyes. Dean still looked like he meant business. Somehow that look was beautiful.

Sam lowered his eyes guiltily.

...

Dean pulled a bottle of something out of his jacket and Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I hope you didn't steal that from Ellen."

"Nah," Dean shrugged, grinning.

Sam wasn't convinced.

They should have gone straight to bed, considering how tired they were, but they stayed up even longer, sitting side by side on the mattress, drinking and talking.

After a while Dean got quiet. He put his hand on Sam's knee and said, "Hey, Sam, all that Andy... and psychic shit... you good now?"

Sam thought about it. He wasn't _good, _he needed to know that Dean would take him out if he turned into a killer. But now didn't exactly seem like the right time to ask... he wanted Dean lucid, taking him seriously. He didn't wan't Dean to forget it. It was too important.

He glanced down at Dean's hand resting on his leg. Come to think of it, Dean was touching him pretty casually, in light of everything that had happened between them in the past few weeks. He wondered if Dean was doing it innocently, or if he was feigning innocence to deliberately ignore the elephant in the room. Hmm. _Dean's pretty good at repression, _he thought.

Dean spoke up again. "Sam, there's no reason to think you're going to turn out like the other... psychics. 'Specially not 'Mad Max.'"

Sam clenched his fists. "And why not? Andy and his brother were raised in separate homes, and both of them ended up..."

Dean said casually, "Well, lucky for you, _we_ weren't raised in separate homes." Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

"That's not funny, Dean. Look, I need to know that if _I_ become the evil twin, you'll..."

"Hang on," Dean said as his cellphone rang. "It's Ellen." He showed Sam the text:

**Y'all boys better be asleep by now, 'cause I'm waking you up when we open for the evening. And Dean, you're paying for that bottle. -E**

"You _did _steal it," Sam tried not to smile.

"I borrowed it."

"Dean, _turn eight._"

"Whatever you say, baby."

Sam's eye twitched.

"Aww, Sammy, what's wrong?"

"You called me 'baby.' I'm not an infant, Dean."

"Maybe I meant baby, as in _baby_," Dean winked at him.

Sam winced. He thought of how vulnerable Dean had been in the days after he kissed him. "Stop flirting with me, seriously. You're not going to like what happens."

"What, did you use your freaky powers to spy on our future?"

Sam turned away. Dean was fun to be around. Sam didn't even mind being the butt of some of his jokes. He didn't mind cracks at his masculinity - he didn't have anything to worry about in that department. Gay jokes were fine, too, though the implications weren't quite as amusing lately. He didn't like it when Dean was patronizing or made him feel like a child as much, since he was every bit as grown up as his brother, but even that wasn't so bad. Just... Dean should know not to joke about how Sam was a freak of nature. It kinda hurt. Even more, now, since Dean had thought _Andy_ was so cool.

Dean crouched on the floor in front of Sam's knees, looking up at him. "You have no idea, Sam... I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, and I wouldn't even blink. And you think _you're_ dangerous. It's cute," he scoffed, but his eyes were shiny.

Sam gazed at him, intrigued by his pale green eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch Dean's face, but Dean stood up before he could move.

"And your sense of morality is fucking nuts, by the way," Dean shook his head, unpacking his toothbrush.

...

They brushed their teeth, and Dean, rolling his eyes, fished some cash out of his wallet and went to leave it for Ellen. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, thinking.

When Dean came back, he stared at Sam's posture, unmistakably worried. Then he smiled and put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Time for bed, Sammy."

Sam nodded. He got up and went to sit on his own bed, then realized that there was only one bed in the room.

Dean must have noticed, too.

"Oh, Ellen, what the fuck," he heard Dean breathe.

"How did we not notice that?" Sam was amazed.

Dean looked lost for a moment. There wasn't really any other furniture in the room, and they were both exhausted.

"Um," Sam said.

"I'll sleep upside-down." Dean decided.

Sam grimaced. He didn't know how to respond, so he said sarcastically, "Yeah, I love having dreams about your foot odor."

"My feet smell like roses."

Sam sighed. "We've shared a bed before, Dean."

"_Ouch_, you want me that bad? Sucks to be you."

Sam was about to retort when he saw the look in Dean's eyes. "Look, dude, I saw an armchair in the hallway. I'll pull it in and sleep there, so don't worry about it."

"Sure, that'll feel great, since we haven't gotten more than a couple hours of sleep in the past three states."

"Then can't we just sleep with our backs to each other?"

Dean froze for an instant, but recovered quickly. "Yeah, okay."

Sam got into the bed on the far side, sliding his socks around to untuck the covers, then rolling onto his right shoulder. He felt the mattress shift. _Dean is not cool with this_ - Sam could feel it radiating off of him.

"Sam..."

"Yeah?"

"I am NOT gay."

"Yeah."

Dean turned around and elbowed him, hard. "I'm _serious, _man," he said, looking directly at him.

"Okay. I know," Sam said gently. He cupped Dean's elbow to save his ribs from another attack. Dean grunted, but didn't pull away. Sam was suddenly aware of every place that their bodies were touching. Sam was lying on his back and Dean, on his right side, propping himself up with his left hand, fingers splayed against the mattress under Sam's back. Sam was holding Dean's elbow against his chest, while his left arm stretched out behind Dean's body. Dean's bent knee was pressed into the side of his leg. Not super erogenous zones or anything, but they were in bed together.

Dean's face, his arms, his white t-shirt, were shadowy and blue in the soft morning light. Time stopped for a minute. Then Dean rolled away, clearly rejecting the idea.

Sam thought about it for a while. _It's so like Dean to start something sexual and then get cold feet._ But he wasn't some one-night girl that Dean had met in a bar. He knew Dean blamed himself for John's death, and had acted out his frustration for a long time. Dean still wasn't okay... Sam could tell how defenseless Dean had felt after they talked. Dean got over it, though, and had acted more like himself since. He seemed to think that they were cool again, and it was okay to pretend nothing had happened, so he must have taken the one-bed situation as an affront, blaming Sam, though it had probably been an oversight on Ellen's part. _Dean probably feels guilty for starting things, because he's obsessed with his brotherly duties_. _He still doesn't trust me,_ Sam thought.

Sam was powerfully attracted to Dean, both physically and emotionally. He yawned. He had to somehow figure out if Dean felt the same way.

He felt Dean shuffling around and getting out of bed once, then all was quiet. He shut his eyes as the red dawn light filtered through the curtains.


	5. Chapter 5

[_Several hours later..._]

...

Sam woke up completely disoriented. His brain started firing immediately in an exhausting way that made him want to go back to sleep. Headache, stomach didn't feel great either... but damn, he was completely rigid, and the aching bulge in his jeans was pressed against something soft and warm. He didn't want to open his eyes, so he felt gently. Someone's ass. His face nuzzled into the person's neck. Smelled nice, familiar...

Dean.

_Oh, fuck._

Sam couldn't tell if Dean still wanted it. Sam did. It's not like he had never thought about it before - Dean was probably the most stunning person he'd ever met, but it didn't seem remotely possible until quite recently.

_So how did this happen? _Sam wondered, shifting carefully. He opened his eyes and sat up a little, squinting against the bright sunlight. Dean was fast asleep with his mouth open; wearing nothing but a pair of thin, grey boxer briefs, and they were _spooning. _No wonder he had a hard-on.

Speaking of which, it kinda hurt. Sam tried not to move too much as he unzipped his jeans, but had to wiggle around a bit to free himself from the right leg of his pants. He finally got them down past his knees, then pulled them off with his toes, kicking them off the bed. Dean stirred, but continued to sleep.

Sam was still uncomfortable, so he pulled his underwear and shirt off too.

He didn't know what to do... he wanted to touch Dean, but Dean would definitely get angry. But he was asleep - moreover, he was sleeping _without his clothes_ in the same bed, and how often did they end up spooning, anyway?

Deciding that he wasn't going to do anything weird, just hold him, he settled down behind Dean's back, nudging Dean's heavy legs further apart with his knee. Feeling guilty as hell, he pushed his dick along the underside of Dean's ass and between his parted thighs, pulling back a little when he brushed against Dean's scrotum through the thin fabric. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, trying to calm down, before sliding his arm under Dean's, holding him close. He pressed his chest into Dean's hot, smooth back and his face into his hair. He nuzzled him gently, letting Dean's soft, buzzed hairs tickle his face.

Sam closed his eyes and breathed in Dean's scent. It was a little overwhelming, being so close, after all the times he'd thought about it - his body burned and he saw fireworks against the insides of his eyelids.

_Great, _he thought, _it's like puberty all over again._

Within ten seconds, he realized that he was way too horny to be in this position and not move. He resolved to go to the bathroom soon, though he very badly wanted to stay where he was. He shifted his hips forward, cock accidentally nudging Dean's balls again, harder this time. He paused, heart pounding, waiting for him to wake up. Miraculously, nothing happened.

He propped himself up, looking down at Dean's face, admiring the curves of his chest and arms, which were covered in goosebumps. He lightly kissed Dean's shoulder, and ran his eyes down Dean's body. Dean's erection was tenting his boxers.

Sam frowned. "Are you awake?" he murmured as quietly as possible.

Dean raised his eyebrows without opening his eyes, clearly trying not to smile. "Nope," he said confidently.

_Dean was just..._

He had Dean on his back in a second, kissing him hard and grinding against him, holding his legs apart. Dean kissed him back fervently, biting his lips and licking his tongue. Then he shoved Sam's face away. "Stop... I- I want you to stop," he panted.

"All this time... but you really don't seem to mind, Dean..." Sam breathed, pulling back a little. He gazed at Dean's face. _Yeah, definitely turned on. So pretty._

Sam leaned forward and pressed several open-mouthed kisses into the soft flesh on Dean's neck. He licked Dean's lips open and kissed him deeply.

"Not- Not like this..." Dean said between kisses.

"Why, 'cause we're here?"

"_No_," Dean growled. Sam didn't understand, but stopped kissing him to let him talk. Dean was silent, running his hands down Sam's chest in admiration. Sam didn't think his brother had ever looked at him like that before, and was overcome... he pressed Dean's legs back, so his feet were up in the air, kissing the inside of his calves and grinding his dick into his ass.

Before Sam knew what was happening, Dean had used some wrestling move - wrapping one leg around Sam's back and flipping their positions. He used his other knee to roll Sam onto his stomach, digging that knee into Sam's back, holding him down. Then Dean twisted Sam's good arm around behind his back, and cranked it, hard. The whole operation took about three seconds.

"Ah," Sam inhaled sharply, tapping out so Dean wouldn't dislocate his shoulder.

"Then _listen,_" he hissed, letting go.

"I didn't know what you meant!"

"Never- not like that."

Sam groaned into the pillow. "You're torturing me, Dean..."

"Maybe... maybe I do want to kiss you. But Sam, _please_, not like that."

Sam struggled for a minute, then managed to roll over so he could face him. Dean was still pretty horny, and looked magnificent sitting on top of him. Sam felt another surge of attraction, then shook his head. "Be more specific. Tell me what you didn't like."

Dean just frowned at him, looking very tired. Sam noticed bluish circles under his eyes.

"Um, Dean... why did you take your pants off last night?"

"What? Come on, man, I can't sleep in jeans! Friggin' uncomfortable. And hot."

Suddenly, Sam understood. "It's because you don't want to... um," Sam wondered how to put it. "You don't want to feel like a girl," he said softly.

"Ssh!" Dean said, clapping his hand over Sam's mouth.

"'Mm I right?" Sam's voice was muffled.

Dean nodded slowly, brows furrowed, eyes serious.

Sam smiled into Dean's hand, kissing it gently. "Okay," he said. "Tell me what to do."

...

Sam was thirsty, dizzy, exhausted, and happier than he'd been in years. He had sat up and rubbed his nose into Dean's cheek affectionately, then slowly started kissing him again. This time, Dean didn't pull back. Dean had straddled him and they did it together; Sam squeezing his hand around both of them and Dean throwing one arm around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him close, while Sam licked the salty sweat off Dean's collarbone, beside his amulet. They came almost simultaneously. Dean collapsed on his back beside Sam, who leaned over him for a deep, breathless kiss. They fell asleep in each other's arms, and didn't wake up for a long time.

...

The rapping on the door got louder. Sam woke up groggily, head splitting open. The green digital clock read 2030.

"You boys better open up 'fore I break this door down." Ellen's voice.

"Coming," Sam croaked.

He shook Dean awake, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and started pulling his clothes on. He flipped the sheets, looking for dried semen, and counting his blessings that they'd had a t-shirt handy. Sam was fully dressed and Dean stood there, naked, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm going to count to ten," Ellen said sternly.

Dean's eyes widened, and his jeans were on in a second. He pulled open the door, and Sam started packing their bags.

"I didn't order pizza," he said to Ellen.

Sam shook his head. _Jerk__, _he thought, walking over to them. "Thanks for the room, Ellen," he said with an apologetic smile, hair in his eyes.

Ellen was glaring at Dean. "If you wanna stay tonight, it'll have to be in the loft... I need this room. And," Ellen rolled her eyes, "Jo said she has somethin' to show you... but don't you be gettin' my baby girl in trouble, _ya hear_?" Her eyes bored through Dean as her voice became a threatening whisper.

"Oh, don't worry," Dean said, smiling reassuringly. Sam thought he looked terrified.

...

Sam sat in the Impala with the door open as Dean fished around in the trunk. The cool night air felt good. He thought he could drink a gallon of water... but of course, Dean would be hungry, so they'd be somewhere soon.

Sam leaned his head back. He thought again about being Dean's safe place, then remembered the horrified reaction Dean had when he heard that phrase out loud. Sam grinned from ear to ear as Dean got into the driver's seat.

"What? Did I miss something?" Dean asked.

Sam laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

Dean looked blank for a second, then said, "Smile like that again... it was adorable."

Sam smiled, though it was more of a grimace. _Adorable?_

Dean turned away. "I don't wanna stay in the loft; we'll come back later. Let's _do_ something," he said, revving the engine.

"Did you hear what Jo wanted?"

"Nah, we'll find out tomorrow."

Sam paused, watching him. "You know... She kinda likes you..."

Dean smirked, clearly a little annoyed. "I noticed."

"So... what do you think of her?" Sam tried to sound nonchalant.

"Wrong place, wrong time," Dean said dryly.

Sam cleared his throat. His heart was beating a little too fast.

A song Dean liked came on the radio. He started lip-syncing, slapping the steering wheel for emphasis. Then his eyes widened in realization. "Sorry baby," he said to the car.

...


	6. Chapter 6 (side story)

[_Side story_]

...

Sam was doing research. He snapped the laptop shut when Dean opened the motel room door, and slid it under the covers for good measure.

Dean dropped his coat on the table and regarded him skeptically. "Oh, that's not _completely obvious_." He shook his head, and breathed, "Awkward."

Sam looked at him with what he hoped was innocence.

"You know I don't care if you jerk off, right? What, you have some weird porn kink you don't want me to know about?" Dean regarded his half-erection with raised eyebrows.

"Dean, that's not- I wasn't-" he started. In fact, he had been researching what guys do in bed together. Maybe his imagination had gone a little... "You're right, I was watching porn."

"Okay, I did _not_ want to know that."

"But you just said-"

"Uhn-uh," Dean held his hand up to keep Sam from saying anything else, then marched off to the bathroom, looking mortified.

Sam didn't know whether he was more amused or frustrated. He could hear the shower through the door, so he walked over to Dean's coat and fished through the pockets.

Dean had left his phone unattended. How unwise. Sam picked it up, changed the 'settings' password (Dean always used 6666, not very cautious) so that Dean couldn't undo his handiwork without his help, or a serious time investment. Then he changed the "banner" words on Dean's phone to read, "DEAN'S A LITTLE MASOCHIST."

He gazed at it happily for a minute, then thought better of it... _if Dean _is_ a masochist, it might be a sore spot_. So he changed it again.

**Z-cell Inc.**

**0354**

**DEAN WINCHESTER IS A UNICORN**


	7. Chapter 7 (S2E06)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 6 - "No Exit"]

...

"Dean!" Sam was shouting. Dean jerked awake and swerved out of the oncoming traffic.

His eyelids must had grown heavy, staring at the endless wet blacktop. They were driving east. Dean could have gone either way. He'd taken the eastbound ramp after seeing blue flashing lights reflecting off the fog to the west. Not that it mattered.

There would be someone who needed saving on the east coast. Had to be. Tons of people needed saving. Most of them didn't get lucky.

"Dean... I don't mind driving," Sam said gently.

"I'm fine."

Awake enough, he returned to brooding. He'd had virtually no reaction to narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a semi. He could feel Sam worrying from the passenger's seat, he just didn't have the energy to console him. What would he say? _It'll be okay, Sammy, everything turns out all right? Your life will be full of hugs and sunshine any day now? _He'd gotten Sam back into this life for his own selfish purposes. Sam could have been free.

"Wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

"Nope." Dean kept his eyes on the road. He knew exactly what Sam was doing without looking over at him. Sam was staring out the window at the monotonous grey trees and the occasional bursts of city light. Sam was sticking his chin out stubbornly. Sam was worrying over his older brother.

They saved people, but they didn't always make it in time. Dean's conscience was counting the souls he had failed to save. And then, at the end of a hunter's life... At the end of Sammy's life...

Dean turned on the radio. Some new-age crap. He didn't bother to change it. They drove on through the rainy night.

...

"Dean, we've been driving for hours. Do we even have a destination?" Sam had to raise his voice to talk over the static as they drove out of the radio station's broadcast range. Though he was practically shouting, his voice still sounded kind.

Dean finally glanced over at his brother. His face remained expressionless, but he felt something for that kid - now a tall, handsome man - who would sit in the car for hours before questioning him. Sam shouldn't have to be that tolerant.

"Yeah, Sammy. Let's find someplace to sleep," he said quietly.

...

They were barely in the door when Sam asked, "Is this about Dad?"

"No," he snapped. "Not everything's about Dad." _Of course it's about Dad_, he thought.

His father had been a good man. Dean knew that better than anyone. But what Jo had said... well, that hadn't surprised him much either.

And Jo... _Damn_, Dean thought. She was pretty ballsy, though still clueless about hunting. And during their last case he'd thought... Not that it mattered.

He sank into an overstuffed motel chair and stared into space.

"Dean? Dean! You gotta snap out of it." Sam was suddenly crouching on the floor right in front of him.

"Out of what?" Dean managed a small, mischievous smile.

Sam glared up at him, completely serious.

Dean gazed back at him with a mixture of affection and annoyance. Then he flipped his phone open to check the time, and yawned, "What state are we in?"

"Illinois."

"That far?" Dean looked smug. Then his eyes got huge. _Dean Winchester is a Unicorn? _"Oh you bitch..."

Sam's glare turned into a different look, just as intense, that moved slowly from Dean's eyes down to his lips.

Dean felt his skin getting hot. "Wanna check this town out?" he said casually.

"Dude, you need to sleep."

"Thanks, Grandma," Dean sneered.

"You're a grandma!"

"You wear tutus."

"You're a unicorn."

Sam had crossed a line... Dean could never go there. Unicorns weren't _real_, and he'd tried to tell Sam that repeatedly, but he suspected they still featured in Sam's kinky fantasies. So he did the only thing he could do - he tackled Sam to the ground, putting him in a half nelson.

"You can't beat me in a fight," Dean scowled. Sam looked strong, and Dean knew he was capable - he'd helped train him - so why did he never... "Are you even trying?"

With a sudden burst of power, Sam rolled out of the hold and Dean was on his back. He blinked. Sam was getting up, dragging Dean to his feet, pressing their bodies close. "You want me to win?" Sam said in his ear.

Dean shuddered slightly. He could feel his whole body flushing, helplessly aroused. He quickly turned his back to Sam and started getting ready for bed, throwing his coat and flannel shirt on the chair he'd been sitting in. He started towards the bathroom and felt a breeze on his chest.

Sam ducked his head to hide his smirk. Dean looked down and saw that fist-sized circles had been cut out of his shirt, right over his nipples.

_Cute_, Dean thought, grimacing.

Sam burst out laughing.

"Yeah, Sammy, you like that?" Dean taunted, feeling dumb.

Sam's smile faded as he met Dean's eyes. Sam walked towards him slowly, and Dean found himself backing up a few paces until, _Shit_, he hit the wall. Sam put his hands on Dean's torso, spreading his big fingers out over his ribcage, pressing him gently backwards, cast heavy over Dean's thudding heart. Sam kissed his forehead.

"Whoa, hey, Sammy..." Dean said softly.

Sam's jaw was clenched; Dean couldn't tell if he was horny or pissed off. His hard, solid presence was interfering with Dean's ability to think straight. That's why Dean turned his head slightly so his nose _accidentally_ brushed Sam's chin. When Sam leaned in to kiss him, he did his best to turn his face away, but there was no helping it. He allowed Sam to suck on his lips slowly, allowed Sam to press deeper into his mouth. Sam's hand slid down and undid the button on Dean's pants.

Dean pulled back. "You ruined my favorite shirt," he growled. "Pussy."

"So... you get on my case for fetishes you made up, and now you're trying to tell me you have a thing for cats?" Sam teased.

Dean looked disturbed. "Dude, this conversation has seriously gotten too weird."

"Couldn't be weirder than _sparkly pink unicorns with butterfly tattoos_," Sam retorted with an evil grin. "Your words, not mine."

"I never said that!"

"Maybe you don't _remember_ because you haven't been sleeping. I guess that means you probably forgot all the weird things you let me do to you, too," Sam said wistfully, pressing his nose into Dean's temple.

Dean shoved a hand deep into his pocket, trying to adjust his pants and hide his erection. "You're... making stuff up," Dean gasped as Sam wrapped his good hand around Dean's wrist, drawing it slowly out of his pocket, then unzipped his pants and touched him through his shorts. He totally was, too. Dean hadn't slept _much_ lately, but he wasn't sleep deprived to the point of forgetting things or... or ranting about _unicorns_. Why did it have to be unicorns?

He turned away, meaning to give Sam the cold shoulder, but realizing immediately that he had not improved his position. He felt Sam's hands on his hips, tugging his jeans down, pulling his underwear off more carefully, scraping Dean's thigh lightly with his cast, running the palm of his good hand sensually down Dean's other leg as he stripped him. Fabric brushed his shoulder blades as Sam took his own clothes off behind him. Sam's body, suddenly naked, pressed warm against his back, cast brushing against his ass for some reason.

"Easy, Sam," there was a warning in his voice, but he stopped himself from using the cliche, 'you're going too fast.'

Sam pushed him into the wall in response, reaching around him, taking his cock in his big hand. He sighed as Sam buried his face in his neck and began stroking him. He'd had some good handjobs before, but, he supposed, Sam knew what felt best.

Dean's breathing became ragged. He was turned on, trying to calm down, trying not to lose control. Sam kissed him gently behind his ears as the pressure built up. Dean closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cheesy floral wallpaper in front of him.

Then Sam's cast moved and he felt Sam's hardness pressing into his ass.

Dean was suddenly alert, skin pricking with goosebumps. "Sam, you're poking me in the butt," he ground out, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Then turn around," Sam murmured in his ear.

Dean made a low, inarticulate noise, but did as he was told. Sam backed up a little. Dean shut his eyes in frustration as Sam's erection bumped into his. He heard Sam chuckling and his eyes snapped open again. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Sorry about your shirt, man." Sam smiled, pulling Dean's shirt over his head.

" 'Sokay," Dean mumbled, taking the opportunity to really look Sam over. _Damn... I am _not _gay, so what the hell..._ he thought as he relished the sight of Sam's lean muscular form. He let his eyes move lower. Last time he had been too preoccupied with closing his eyes and pretending this wasn't happening, so he hadn't really noticed... That thing was... large. He gaped stupidly. He looked up at Sam, who looked a little... concerned? _Dude, Sam could get tons of beautiful women hooked with that thing_. _L__ucky asshole._

"All right, c'mere," Dean said.

Sam was kissing him sloppily, his erection leaving a smear of clear liquid on Dean's belly. Dean was no longer able to resist, and kissed him back passionately, panting indecently as Sam licked his neck. Then Sam got on his knees.

He grunted, shoving his knuckles in his mouth so he wouldn't cry out like a girl as Sam sucked him off. He felt a glorious rush of nothingness as his brain focused on the warm, wet pressure.

Sam paused.

Dean's eyes fluttered open. Sam was kneeling, beating off, jeans bunched around his lower legs, knees between Dean's ankles. He watched Sam licking him slowly, kissing his balls and the insides of his thighs, pressing into Dean's left leg with his cast. _Holy shit, Sam_, he thought, gasping as Sam took his length into his mouth again.

He tried to push Sam away to warn him he was coming. Sam didn't take the hint. Dean gave up, pleasure overwhelming him in waves. He was vaguely aware that Sam swallowed it.

Sam stood up slowly, beating off, leaning down to press wet kisses into the soft skin between Dean's clavicles. Dean groaned as Sam's hot cum squirted on him, and the creamy white drips ran down between his legs.

...

He squinted as the freezing water hit his face. As the cold rivulets coursed down his chest, his breathing grew fast and shallow. _Dammit, that was really hot. Damnit!_ He slapped one hand against the wet tiles, slamming the tap off and drawing the curtain back roughly.

He was completely distracted from whatever had been on his mind earlier. He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back into the room.

Sam was reading a book, still shirtless.

_I have absolutely no thoughts about that,_ Dean told himself. Then he blurted, "Hey Sammy, what do you say we find you a nice girl so you can-"

Sam interrupted, smirking. "That's not necessary, Dean."

"O... kay," Dean's eyes widened as he turned away. They were _definitely _never sleeping in the same bed again. He flopped facedown on the mattress, not bothering to get dressed.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We were totally sober this time," Sam gloated.

Dean paused, steadying himself. "Don't remind me," he said flatly.

...


	8. Chapter 8 (S2E07)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 7 - "The Usual Suspects"]

...

Sam leaned back against the headrest and pictured the rage he felt as a ball of red light. He directed it outwards towards the horizon and watched it dissipate.

A year ago, Sam had gone to see Dr. Ellicott, who had taught him something called 'guided imagery.' He had focused primarily on redirecting Sam's anger, but suggested that Sam might find it useful to identify the 'more-than-brotherly' feelings he had for Dean so he could dispel them, too. At the time, that had only irritated Sam more. Now he was willing to try it.

He focused on the cycling thoughts he'd had during the police interrogation, imagined them congealing into black ectoplasm...

"Hey, Monkboy," Dean slapped him, then handed a cup of coffee through the open passenger's window.

"Huh?"

"What're you, meditating or something?" Dean smirked, leaning through the window to harass him. "Your eyes are all glassy. Spooky!" he said passionately.

"Fuck off."

"Ooh, get mad Sammy, I like that," Dean winked.

Sam clenched his jaw and glared through the windshield at a milk truck parked behind the gas station. He had already told Dean to stop flirting with him. Dean rapped his knuckles on the inside of Sam's door, then he wandered off, giving up for now. Five minutes later, they pulled back onto the highway.

Sam's thoughts returned to the Baltimore case.

_I let Dean call the shots because we'd been taken in; it wasn't a great time for dissent. But I should be the one creating the diversions. Dean puts everyone else before himself, puts himself in danger, always ready to sacrifice... No. I won't let him sacrifice himself._

_I have to find a way to make him care more. Make him feel... special._

Sam's brain repeated the vicious thoughts he'd had while being interrogated - _What the hell would Dean do in prison all alone? No. If Dean goes down, I can't abandon him. But we won't end up together, necessarily, so maybe I should try to escape and bust Dean out... There's just no way. No fucking way. I'd do anything to save him... _He paused, heart thudding. That was it. He just knew. If he turned into a monster, that would be why. If someone hurt Dean, or locked him away where Sam couldn't reach him, he would lose his mind.

"Hey Sam, look what I found!" Dean aimed a small black pistol at his face.

Sam looked at him questioningly. He opened his mouth to tell Dean that the gun didn't even look real, and got a mouthful of water. Dean squirted him in the face a couple more times, then admired his watergun, cackling.

"Idiot," Sam said, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Sam, but if you leave your mouth open you never know what kind of strange liquids you're going to get in it," Dean heaved a melodramatic sigh.

_Seriously? _Dean had been teasing him nonstop lately, but this was going a bit far. "Dean, you're trying my patience. Seriously. Cut it out."

"All right, all right." Dean looked like he was trying not to crack up.

Sam wasn't sure if Dean was just being immature and acting out, or if he was ashamed of what they'd done. Either way, Dean was taking his sexual frustration - or whatever it was - out on him with the not-so-funny jokes, and the casual, nothing-could-possibly-happen-here attitude when they were alone together, which, bar driving, Dean seemed to be avoiding.

Then again, some of his behavior was downright suggestive. Sam didn't know how to interpret it. He felt his neurons firing erratically.

In Baltimore he had faced the very real possibility of being separated from his brother. Sam liked to think they were independent, but Dean didn't seem to care about himself.

No, that was putting it mildly. Dean clearly didn't give half a fuck what happened to him. Would Dean be okay in prison? He was strong, and well-trained, but in a place full of hardened criminals, someone was bound to be stronger. What if some giant dude noticed how pretty Dean's lips were? What if he were drawn in by Dean's gorgeous eyes, full of both sorrow and arrogance? What if Dean's smart mouth and tough demeanor made him even more appealing to... to conquer?

Sam knew Dean was brave, but the thought of it made him sick. He wanted Dean to protect himself.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. Worrying about it was pointless, but he had an ominous feeling that their run-ins with the law would escalate.

...

As they were plowing through Tennessee, Dean seemed a little uneasy. "It's okay, Sammy," he said with a smile, slapping his hand over Sam's knee.

Sam ignored the fire that started in his lower abdomen whenever Dean touched him. He continued to stare out the window.

"So," Dean cleared his throat. "You wanna... do something?"

Sam thought it sounded sexual. "What?" He turned to look at Dean, eyebrows raised, half-smiling.

He noticed how Dean gulped, but tried to play it off: "You know, go out, find something to cheer you up. Make you less gloomy."

Sam smirked inwardly. _Nice try. _"I don't know, man," he said. "Let's just find someplace to crash."

The clock read 2035 when Dean took the Nashville exit.

...

Dean got out of the car and stretched languidly. Somehow he had managed to convince Sam that relaxing at the motel tonight would be the worst decision ever. _But we're in the system now_, Sam reminded himself, _we shouldn't be going out until we know the details._ Then again, Dean had trouble making reasonable choices on his own lately.

He walked around the Impala to stand next to his brother, eyeing the bar. Dean had a special knack for finding the raunchiest dive in town.

"This your favorite spot, Dean?"

"Nope. Never been here before." As they went in, he winked at a pretty brunette who was smoking on the stoop. She gave him a racy smile.

...

Dean was drinking a lot. Sam didn't know what was on his mind, but he supposed he'd try to get him to open up later, when they were alone. Dean started chatting with a tan young woman and Sam sat by himself, thinking about Dean.

Sam noticed Dean negotiating with the bartender, who handed him an orange square of paper and a pen. _He's giving her his number? _Sam wondered, and felt an odd pang as Dean whispered something in her ear. _But_, he reminded himself, _It__'s not my business_. He couldn't expect Dean to change like that.

Dean got up and rubbed his hand across Sam's back before joining the tan woman at a table with her three female friends. They looked like university students.

He tried not to let his stomach churn as he thought of Dean sleeping with multiple people at the same time.

_Thing is_, _Dean looks so happy right now_. He was talking and laughing with four women. Sam glanced over again, and saw three of the four women looking straight at him. He quickly averted his eyes, staring into his beer. _Ah, _he thought. _So a__wkward._

Moments later, two of the women approached, giggling. They sat down on either side of him. He figured Dean had done something weird, but waited to hear what they had to say.

"So you're a big guy, huh?" the woman to his right began meaningfully.

"Maybe?" Sam said weakly, concerned about where this might be going.

"Oh yeah, we're into rough play. Size matters," she explained, eyes huge. "Me and my friends," she gestured towards the table where Dean was sitting, "The four of us can show you a _really_ good time. Four-on-one."

"You're here to pick someone up, right?" her friend chimed in. "How about picking up _four _someones?"

"Four some-" Sam shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm already... seeing somebody."

"Oh, well. Come meet our friends anyway!" Before he could object, the woman to his right led him across the room. As he walked, he noticed several people, both men and women, checking him out. He frowned. _That's unusual._

"So what's your name, handsome?" the woman sitting next to Dean asked, looking him over slowly.

"It's Sam. And I don't-"

"Hey, Sam," the two women he hadn't met said at once.

Dean was observing him with a broad smirk. _He's enjoying this, _Sam thought. _Jerk_. He gave Dean an icy look that said, 'Count me out of your games.'

Dean raised his eyebrows innocently.

"What sort of things are you into, Sam?" the tan woman asked.

Sam didn't get a chance to reply. An attractive woman with long, black hair walked up behind him, touching his back.

"That's a silly prank, y'all," she said, peeling a fluorescent orange sticky note off of Sam's shirt and handing it to him. "Tacking 'kick me' signs to cute boys' backs may've worked when y'all were in middle school, but this fine gentleman looks like a grad student." She flashed Sam a winning smile before striding off to the pool tables.

The tan woman rolled her eyes. "Art majors!"

Sam read the note in his hand. It said: 'This guy. HUGE COCK. Seriously.' The capitalized words were large enough to read from at least halfway across the room. _Ridiculous,_ Sam thought, crumpling the note in his hand and glaring at Dean.

"So, you're joining us?" the tan woman caressed his ass. Sam flinched.

"He's already got someone!" the woman who had lead him over protested.

Sam silently thanked her.

"Nah, he's just shy," Dean chuckled.

Sam clenched his fists. He'd had enough. "Could you all excuse me for a minute?"

Everyone at the table smiled up at him agreeably.

"Do what you need to do, honey. I don't wanna bother you if you're taken." The tan woman regarded Dean with curiosity.

...

Sam eased his way through the growing night crowd and into the bathroom. _Calm down, _he told himself, twisting the squeaky tap and rubbing cold water on his face.

Dean wasn't taking him seriously at all. The jokes and cute remarks were only getting worse. And here they were, making a scene when they _should_ be laying low.

Sam was wicked horny, too, in a way that wouldn't let up. Even if it wasn't physically there all the time, he couldn't get Dean off his mind. Dean naked, flushed, gasping. That blissed-out face. God, he even thought of Dean handcuffed...

Sam scrubbed more water over his face. This wasn't helping.

He decided to go back to the motel alone. Dean could flirt all night. Maybe eventually he'd stop being coy. Or maybe he wouldn't. Sam would try not to be too aggressive... but it'd be easier if he were asleep when Dean got back.

...

Sam walked out, trying to remember the name of the motel, and almost slammed into someone with short blond hair. The young man was standing right outside the bathroom, contributing to the graffiti on the wall.

For a second, he thought it was Dean. It wasn't.

Sam sighed. He supposed he shouldn't leave without saying anything, so he went back to the bar.

"Hey Sam," a woman with wavy blond hair touched his chest flirtatiously.

He gave her a pained smile. "Hi."

He noted the four women getting ready to leave. "Come with us next time!" the woman who had sat on his right called to him. Sam acknowledged her with a nod. She waved as they made their way to the door, arm-in-arm with a tall, blond man. Also not Dean.

He scanned the room for his brother, and his eyes fell on the bar.

The brunette they had seen when they first arrived was sitting very close to Dean. He was letting her feed him a french fry, grinning, licking the salt from between her fingers.

_Gross,_ Sam thought. He tried not to look, and got on Dean's other side, leaning in to talk to him. "I'm leaving," he said in a low voice. His lips brushed Dean's ear ever so slightly and he winced, hoping Dean didn't notice.

Dean turned toward him. "What?" he shouted over the music and chatter.

"I'm leaving."

"Wait, wait, did you meet Kelsey?" Dean beamed at the blond woman who had touched Sam's chest.

"Yes. And now I am going," he enunciated.

"Aw, come on, man. Live a little."

"Dude, stop trying to set me up!"

"I'm not!"

Sam scowled at him, getting up to leave. Dean grabbed the front of his jacket. "Hold on a sec," he said into Sam's ear, skimming his cheek lightly against Sam's jaw. He gave Sam a playful look. Sam's breath caught, and he begged his nether regions not to betray him - he'd had enough embarrassment for one night.

Dean had turned back to the brunette, whom he kissed fully on the mouth, running his thumb playfully up the outside of her black stockings. "Wait for me, gorgeous," he said to her.

She giggled, clearly charmed, and gave him a peck on the nose. "Don't take too long!" she called after him sweetly.

...

Dean pulled him into the hallway outside the restrooms. The blond guy was gone.

"Okay, what?" Dean demanded, turning to face him.

Sam was startled. "What?" _Is he really that impatient?_

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I mean, what? What is it? You got something to say?"

"Not particularly."

"Then, why're you so," Dean searched for the word. "So angsty?"

"Right now?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Wait, don't answer that." Dean wrinkled his nose.

"I'm not angsty."

"Oh yeah. Definitely not," Dean said under his breath.

"I'm not angsty! I'm just sick of you playing around, and... and being in danger all the time, Dean!" He was careful not to accuse Dean of recklessly throwing himself in harm's way.

"What the hell- You mean Baltimore? How is that danger? What, you've never been arrested before?" Dean jeered.

Sam ignored him. This wasn't really the best environment for them to talk, but Dean had asked. "Well, you're... attractive," he began quietly, hoping he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt.

"I know," Dean grinned adorably. Then he frowned. "So?"

"Look, you know what can happen to attractive guys in prison..."

Dean interrupted. "What, you don't think I can take care of myself? Sam, I've been doing this for years. Come on."

"Dude, they were talking about putting you away for _life_. Or even..." Sam took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

"Nah, Sam, they can be reasoned with." Dean was smiling irreverently.

"Yeah, and you're _great_ at reasoning with people. The epitome of tact!" _We're not getting anywhere, _Sam thought.

"A pit a wha?"

"Epitome. It means-"

"Means you're a show-off," Dean pouted, slurring his words a little.

He was suddenly aware of how close Dean was standing. Well, the hall outside the bathroom was pretty narrow, but still.

Dean continued loudly, "Anyway, that death omen saved my ass. Everything's fine." He shrugged.

Sam snorted despite himself. "Maybe it did... save your ass."

Dean looked confused for a second. Then he caught on. "Yeah, that's just, just great," he muttered, eyes huge.

"You know what I meant," Sam spread his arms in appeal, trying not to laugh at Dean's apparent discomfort.

"So, what? Are we supposed to, uh, hug now or something?"

"I thought-" Sam started. His eyes itched.

"Sam! Don't say _I thought I'd lost you _or any bullcrap like that. Ever. Please. I'm begging you, man."

_Fine, _Sam thought, leaning over to kiss him instead.

Dean shoved him away, pushing through the side door into the mild November night. "Just... save it for when we get inside the motel room, all right?" he called over his shoulder.

_Whoa, _Sam thought. _Did he really just say that? _Then it occurred to him that Dean had just abandoned some pretty brunette in order to take him home. He practically skipped after him.

...

"Sam, what the... I didn't mean _right _inside. Moron."

He squeezed Dean harder, aware that Dean's body seemed to open to his touch. He pushed Dean against the door and kissed him urgently, quickly, sensing his need. Dean kissed him back, but something was off. Sam tried to slow down, but he was pulling Dean's jacket off roughly.

"God, Dean, you're wearing my shirt?" Sam breathed.

"You ruined mine. And we haven't been to a laundromat," Dean said flatly.

"Right," Sam smiled, kissing Dean's cheek as he unbuttoned multiple layers of clothing. He ran his palms down Dean's arms, dragging everything off at once, trying not to scrape him with his cast. No undershirt today.

"Dude, chill out," Dean hissed.

Sam let go of Dean's wrist, and noticed the bright red marks around it. They were bloody.

"How did that happen?"

"I don't know, man," Dean looked exasperated.

"The cuffs?" He watched Dean closely. "You were tugging on them, weren't you?" It didn't make sense... _How many times has he pulled a Houdini with those things? Why would he try to yank them off over his hands this time? And he acted totally calm... Does this mean he cares?_

"Shut up, all right, they might have been loose!"

"Yeah, but you don't flay your wrist checking," Sam smiled broadly.

"All right, I don't like the idea of being locked away forever. But that cop, he tossed me out of the van, and I think he grabbed me by the chain."

Sam frowned. "He did what?" He could hear the edge in his own voice.

"Calm down, man. I'm not in prison. Everything's fine."

Dean went to wash off his wrists. They were covered with superficial abrasions, but one gash was fairly deep, and the water running down the sink was copper-tinged.

Sam watched him from the bathroom doorway.

"See? Nothin' special." Dean showed him his wrists, which didn't look as bad with all the blood rinsed off.

Sam blocked the doorway.

"The fuck, Sam?"

Sam sighed.

A look of recognition crossed his face. "Listen, we're not doing any more of that stuff, understand? It's jacked up."

Sam was silent.

"What, you wanna fight?" Dean stuck his fists up mulishly.

"God, you are so wasted." He approached his older brother, leaning over until their foreheads were touching. He kissed him gently.

"Hey, hey, I said no more of that stuff."

Sam kissed him more deeply.

"Would you listen?" Dean grabbed Sam roughly by the collar.

Sam deftly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it up from the back and slipping out of it. Dean watched in amazement, then tossed down the empty fabric.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

"Sorry Dean. Unlike you, I can't just pretend I don't want this."

"Yes you can! There are hot girls everywhere. I'm your brother, and, and we screwed up before, but that doesn't mean we have to repeat our mistakes."

Sam's nostrils flared. "Mistakes? Five minutes ago you-" he stopped suddenly. Dean wore an expression that he couldn't read. "Are you _scared_?"

"Of you? Hell no."

_I was too aggressive, _he thought, nuzzling Dean's ear. "Scared you might like it?" he said softly. "Scared you might let me..." he trailed off.

"Mm," Dean grunted, pressing into him slightly. His face and neck were feverish under Sam's lips.

"Is that a yes?" Sam felt like he was interviewing a recalcitrant child.

"Think you can take me?" Dean challenged.

"I'm not interested in finding out," Sam said honestly. "Only if you want it." His fingers brushed lightly over the hardness in the front of Dean's pants. Dean shivered against him.

"Don't do that, Sam," he murmured. " 's messed up."

Sam tugged his own pants and shorts off. He looked into Dean's eyes in the weak light. Pupils dilated, irises clear green, almost minty - light and cool compared to the yellow eyes in Sam's head. Dean probably wanted it, but it was hard to be sure. He guided Dean's hand toward his aching erection.

Dean closed his eyes and touched him tentatively. His arousal wept clear fluid on Dean's fingers. He braced himself.

"You really want it, huh?" Dean whispered.

"Yeah, Dean."

Sam gently tilted Dean's face toward his, letting his eyes communicate the sincere affection and raw desire he felt for his brother. Dean gazed up at him, breathless, completely vulnerable. Sam understood.

When Dean spoke, his voice was husky. "Fuck, Sammy... How the hell do I say no to you?"

...


	9. Chapter 9

...

He had Dean naked in a matter of seconds, kissing him roughly, holding Dean's body against his. They grappled a bit; Sam was trying to kiss and touch every part of Dean's exposed skin, Dean was trying to get him to focus. His brain vaguely registered that Dean's tongue was amazing, and that he should probably slow down...

He remembered from his research that he had to use some sort of lubricant, and cast a quick glance around the bathroom. It was rather spacious for a motel bathroom; the sink was set into a long counter with a washcloth and two bottles nestled in the far corner. _Good_, Sam thought, since it was fairly rare for motels to provide toiletries. He grabbed the one that said "lotion," squirted a liberal amount on his fingers, and, with a twinge of annoyance, remembered he didn't have full use of his right hand. _Stupid cast_. He probably couldn't jerk off while he put his fingers inside Dean. But the mere thought of putting his fingers...

Sam took a deep breath.

Dean looked stunning, completely fucked up. Flushed, lips parted, leaning back with his shoulder blades against the wall and his feet in the middle of the room, touching himself with one hand, other hand dangling behind him. _Jesus_, Sam thought. His sloppy, sprawling pose only added to his sexiness.

Dean frowned at his fingers. "Don't you dare stick anything up my ass," he said halfheartedly, through the haze of arousal. "I'll kill you..."

Sam opened his mouth to explain.

"I mean it," Dean said, grabbing Sam's hip with his free hand and pulling him close, lapping at Sam's lips like a kitten.

Pleasantly surprised, Sam crushed Dean's mouth in a long, hard kiss. Then Dean was pulling away, smirking at him.

"That face-"

"Fuck you."

"You _do _want it!"

"No way," Dean was grinning.

Sam grabbed his ear, scraping his cast against Dean's shoulder in the process. "You little-"

Dean put a finger to Sam's lips. "Careful, princess." He mimed a kiss into the air.

Sam couldn't think in English, so he slammed his upper arms into Dean's shoulders, pressing the bridges of their noses together and growling. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might stop - _Dean _was driving it, Dean was pulling him in and shoving his tongue in his mouth and touching his dick, bending his knee and putting one socked foot up against the wall behind him so that Sam could stand between his legs...

Sam was now fairly annoyed because both of his hands were unavailable - one in a cast and the other holding a handful of cold, slippery goo. An idea hit him, something he had learned from dealing with stubborn children - if a child is belligerent enough and you reverse your argument, the child will easily assume your original stance, changing sides so that they can continue to disagree with you.

Essentially.

He backed away, smearing the lotion on his cock, stroking himself. "More for me then."

Dean watched him masturbate for a second, mouth open, eyes glazed.

"Too bad we can only go this far," Sam taunted.

Dean hesitated.

Sam moved closer, nudging him. "Sorry, I know, you'd _hate _it if we did anything too exciting." He licked Dean's neck with tantric slowness.

"Fine, Sam! Fuck," Dean panted. "Just... do whatever you want."

Sam sank to his knees and pressed a slow kiss into the hollow of Dean's hip. "When you ask later, I'll make sure to say you protested valiantly."

Dean looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "Do you always talk this much?"

He licked the base of Dean's erection. Dean moaned, tangling his fingers in Sam's hair.

Sam chuckled to himself, grabbing the bottle off the bathroom mat where he'd tossed it and getting two fingers completely coated. Dean's ass cheeks were full and warm, and he reached around his legs and spread them, leaving a sticky mess everywhere he touched. He felt Dean stiffen.

"Relax," he commanded.

He didn't stick his fingers in immediately, but began sucking him off, tracing the outline. He hugged Dean's left leg with his less helpful arm, digging his fingertips into the supple gluteal muscles.

Slowly, he slid one finger in. Dean exhaled. He ran the tip of his tongue firmly back and forth over the sensitive underside of Dean's erection as he started moving his finger. Dean let out a low, breathy moan, leaking salty precum into Sam's mouth.

He kissed the insides of his thighs. He knew he was going too fast but he couldn't wait, and pushed two fingers inside.

"Sam." The catch in Dean's voice warned him not to get carried away.

He pulled his fingers out, painting his tongue across Dean's torso as he stood up to face him, pausing several times to kiss his bellybutton, his left nipple, the hollow under his collarbone...

He nuzzled Dean's cheek, not sure if it was okay to kiss him after sucking his cock. Dean brushed their lips together, sighing, bumping into him.

"Turn around," Sam murmured.

Dean flashed him a defiant glare but did what he was told.

_Whoa_, Sam thought.

He leaned his forearm against the wall over Dean's head, resting his weight on the bothersome cast. Dean bit his lip, giving Sam a tantalizing look over his shoulder, and Sam was pressing their bodies together, pushing his chest into the hot skin on Dean's back, kissing his neck, sliding his fingers deep inside him.

Dean shuddered against him, touching himself.

He felt a little mound on the backs of his fingernails, and pressed, twisting his fingers around.

Dean gasped and stomped on Sam's foot.

"Does that feel good?" he purred against Dean's ear, massaging the spot.

"Guh," Dean explained, beating off roughly.

Not wanting him to come right away, Sam returned to trying to open his insides. His cock was twitching against Dean's lower back, wanting attention. He tried to communicate this to Dean, who had two perfectly good hands and was only really using one of them, but the words wouldn't come out. Dean was in his own world, and didn't notice. He helplessly nipped at the muscles that ran between Dean's neck and shoulder.

"Dean," he begged, using his other hand to run his hardness along Dean's butt cheeks, leaving wet smudges.

"Mm?" Dean turned slightly, eyes heavy-lidded.

Sam's hard-on nudged into the groove on Dean's backside. He decided to rely on his stiffness and a ton of lotion - he pulled his fingers out and spread more sliminess liberally on his cock.

Dean froze. "Sam?"

He told his libido to shut up for a second as he tried to express his affection with his entire body. Dean responded sweetly, settling against him.

He held Dean's hips, walking backwards, pulling him along. He guided Dean towards the counter, turning him to face the mirror.

Dean seemed hesitant. "What, you want me to see something?" he smiled nervously.

"Bend over."

Dean looked at him with blurry eyes.

"I know."

Dean propped up on his elbows, then eased down so he was lying on his chest, butt in the air, holding his erection down against his leg with the heel of his hand.

Sam gritted his teeth. He pulled Dean's ass up, spreading him, aligning their bodies. He pushed very slowly even though his _other_ brain was telling him how that round bottom would make such a thick, slapping sound as he slammed his hips into him...

Dean's breathing was uneven.

"Stop me if it hurts," he murmured.

"Shut up," Dean managed.

It was slick but extremely tight. Boiling hot. He grimaced as he forced himself all the way in.

"Sam," Dean gasped out, voice ragged.

Nearly overwhelmed by the intense pressure, Sam made himself pause. He gazed at Dean, who was leaning so his chest and his cheek pressed into the counter, jerking off with one hand. His facial expression was hard to read.

"God, Dean," he sighed. Dean was always beautiful, but now... he felt dizzy, witnessing the sheer sexiness that emanated from the man underneath him.

Watching Dean's expression, he drew most of the way out and pushed in again, agonizingly slow.

Dean arched his back. Sam paused, admiring the beauty of that movement.

"If you're going to fuck me, do it, before I change my mind," Dean grunted moodily. He turned away, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Then, "Sam... I'm not gonna break, okay?" His voice was muffled.

Sam thrust into him, feeling like he would explode from the heat. It didn't last long; several minutes later Dean was gasping and writhing under him, sending ripples of sensitivity through his body that Sam felt on his cock. He pulled Dean upright, almost standing, fucking him hard as his balls drew up. He released inside him, out of breath.

When he stopped seeing stars, he kicked himself for not pulling out. Dean was going to be furious.

...

Dean's legs looked unsteady.

"Sorry we ended up doing it in the bathroom," Sam said. Under the guise of being romantic, he held Dean close, supporting his shoulders so he wouldn't be embarrassed. It took all of his self-control not to pick Dean up and carry him. Dean wouldn't like that.

"So sentimental." Dean sneered, but let himself be led into the other room.

Dean sprawled facedown on the bed. His pose struck Sam as painfully undignified for some reason.

"By the way... shoulda used a condom."

"You're worried I got you pregnant?" Sam grinned, sitting down next to him.

Dean scowled at him.

"Sorry. Yeah, you're right. Guess I got caught up in the heat of the moment."

"Dude, I love that song!"

"Song?"

"Nevermind," Dean yawned.

"Anyway, sorry I got carried away."

"Oh, everyone knows. Jesus, you're like some feral animal or something."

Sam's good mood had him feeling particularly playful. He pounced on Dean and growled in his ear.

Dean jumped a little, startled, then yelled "Motherfucker!" and elbowed Sam in the chest, hard. Sam collapsed on top of him, laughing and kissing him until they both passed out from exhaustion.

...


	10. Chapter 10

[_The next morning..._]

...

When Sam woke up, Dean was in the other bed, sleeping on top of the comforter. He could see the curve of Dean's ass through his threadbare black boxer briefs. His mouth felt dry.

He untangled himself from the sheets - Dean must have tried to wrap them around him, but he'd done a terrible job - and grabbed some clothes out of their bag. He saw Dean's shoulders tense.

"Sam," he croaked.

"Yeah, Dean?" he said softly, unsure of how to act.

"Sam, get me coffee."

He pulled his clothes on. The morning air was cold, but the sun was bright. It would warm up soon. He spotted a gas station a block away.

As he walked, he thought about everything that had happened in the past couple of days. _This morning was probably the first time in my life I've ever felt uncomfortable around Dean. I... he probably doesn't feel the same way. He was drunk and... I let my emotions regarding our arrest interfere with my judgment. Would he tell me if I were too rough? Probably not. There are so many things that Dean will never say. This can't happen again. I hope he's okay._

He felt suspended. Not exactly nervous, but distracted. He stacked the coffee cups and held the door for an older guy. The top cup fell, exploding on Sam's shoes. The older guy looked at him sympathetically and insisted on buying him another cup. He absentmindedly agreed, though he didn't really need coffee. He was wide awake.

Sam had been looking for clues. Dean was wearing underwear, which meant he had woken up at some point during the night. And there had been a towel on the floor in the bathroom. He probably showered. If Sam had seen his face, his reaction then... that would have told him how bad it was. But Dean's face had been in the pillow, his voice carefully composed... Sam wasn't sure.

...

When he finally returned, Dean was still lying facedown. He sat on the edge of the bed. Dean stirred. Sam reached out to touch him, but stopped himself, clenching his hand into a fist. _I overdid it. Dean, I'm sorry. I hope you're okay._

"I brought... coffee." His voice sounded odd.

Dean got up, winced, and glared at Sam. Then his look softened a bit. "Thanks," he said.

"Can I..."

"What?"

"Nevermind." _Holy crap, was I just about to ask if I could kiss him? I must be losing my mind._

...

They didn't drive very far that day; Dean was clearly uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat. He made a few cutting jokes. They didn't talk about it.

Dean went out by himself that evening. Sam tried to read, but his mind wouldn't focus. He put on his sneakers and a pair of black shorts and stepped out into the chilly night air. They were in the country again. Sam ran out of the little town, which was hardly more than an intersection, and through the hills on meandering roads that wound through dry pastures. A few trees had kept their golden leaves, but most were bare in preparation for winter.

He was gone for an hour and a half, so he figured he had run about ten miles. The Impala was parked out front. He stood outside the motel, stretching, letting the chill soak through his skin.

Dean was messing with the television. Sam frowned. Dean gave him an impish smile.

Sam felt something sinking inside him. _Dean was just humoring me... he didn't really want it. But he doesn't seem hurt. It'll be okay_, he thought. And it almost was.

...


	11. Chapter 11 (side story)

[_Several days later..._]

...

Things had stabilized. They weren't 'doing it,' but Dean didn't hate him. _Thank God for small favors._ Dean's teasing hadn't let up, but Sam bore it with a tight smile.

...

Sam shoved hunting gear into a bag mechanically. Dean had actually found a website for clown porn and left it running on his computer. He would literally never recover.

"Relax, Sam, we're not leaving yet."

"Why not? I think I've found something."

"A case?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"No."

"Well, keep researching. I need to give my baby a bath," Dean sighed lovingly.

Sam tried not to let his mind run with that image. It was a particularly warm day in early November, the sun was shining, and the motel lot was empty. Perfect conditions. Dean sometimes took his shirt off to wash the car, mostly because he hated doing laundry. He kept his jeans on, though, for sure. Because if he hadn't...

Dean slammed the door, singing to himself.

Sam pressed his palms into his eyes. What was he thinking about.

_Dean grinning, happy, covered in soap. Bending Dean over the hood of the car... Dean's blissful face as Sam entered him, some fun-house reflection of that cute smile in the shiny black paint..._

Sam groaned and pushed on the stiffness in his pants, trying to make it go away.

He sat down and pulled his laptop towards him. There was an odd _thing _on it. _What is that? _Sam wondered. He picked up the little disc-shaped device. Half of it was metal, and the other half looked like a switch. He tried the switch.

It delivered a mild, sustained electric shock. Sam jumped up, cursing, and threw the thing away from him. It skidded across the floor.

Sam peered at it. It seemed homemade. He picked it up and popped the metal disc off.

_Dean made this, _he realized with a half-smile. _God, he's so clever. _He looked around the room. Sure enough, Dean had taken apart the front paneling on the motel television set.

Sam had no clue how to fix it.

He looked out the window at his brother, half-naked, squinting in the sunlight. "You're such a jerk," he said, grinning.

...


	12. Chapter 12 (S2E08)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 8 - "Crossroad Blues"]

...

Sam flipped the radio off. Dean flipped the radio back on. They were in Louisiana, driving aimlessly again. Whatever.

"Dean..."

"Not now."

He pulled off the road. Sam could do his thing, but he needed some time. What that bitch said about misery... well she didn't know the half of it, but whatever had been going on between him and Sam had taken some of the pain from that festering wound. And she had stuck her fingers right in it, digging up all the things he had worked so hard to bury. Not that it mattered. What was important now was to be cool and wait for things to settle.

He threw the keys down as they stomped inside. Crappy little place with green walls, but it would do. Dean twisted one of the lamps on. Red lampshades. He stopped to appreciate how much the motel room resembled some nightmarish Christmas suite._  
_

A pad of stationary caught his eye. Each page was ringed with printed sprigs of holly. He tore off the top sheet. It read, _Happy Holly-days!_

"Well, ho-ho-ho," Dean said to himself.

"_What_?" Sam was looking at him like he was cracking up.

"Nothing, it's just-" he started to point out the decor, but changed his mind. "Nothing." He absently shoved the paper into his pocket.

Sam wrinkled his brow.

"'Kay, I'm heading out. See what 'Monroe' has to offer."

His little brother kept staring at him, face lined with worry.

He clapped a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "Be good, alright? And if you find Santa's elves in the closet... No orgies." He blinked at how revolting that sounded. Wouldn't necessarily surprise him, though. God, he needed a drink.

Sam gently covered Dean's hand with his own. Dean pulled away before his friendly gesture could turn into something X-rated.

"Dean, wait."

"What?" He avoided Sam's eyes.

"Dean, I wasn't going to say this, but-"

"Sam," he warned.

"I mean, you're not exactly the only one who benefited from that deal Dad made."

"Sam, don't."

"God, Dean, if Dad ever did anything for me-"

"Sam, I mean it. Don't." Realizing he had grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, he released him, and walked out before he could say anything else.

...

He stopped at an empty intersection and rolled down all the windows, letting the cold, humid air in. It slid across his forehead like dead fingers.

The idea came out of nowhere.

_Dad probably knows what we did._

"No," he said aloud.

But he might. If hell was all torture-happy, and if demons knew so much about their personal lives, someone might have mentioned what John's boys got up to in his absence...

"Shit," he slapped the steering wheel, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was unlikely, but possible. Didn't matter, though. Not like he could take it back. He was so fucking _powerless._

Dean blocked his father's words out, but the bitter taste seeped into his mouth anyway.

There was a grocery up ahead to his right. He pulled into the mostly-empty parking lot and gazed sightlessly at blue neon lights advertising "ICE," mounted on dark bricks.

"Dammit! Dad, what the fuck." He was talking to himself like a nutjob. "Dad, you know I wanted to. I wasn't worth you, you... of course I'd have taken that deal. But Dad, Sammy... I can't just leave him like that. Not after... not with you. After what you asked me to do, Dad, I'm sorry. I-" his voice broke. "I just can't. Not like this. I- _I won't,_" he whispered.

He was crying for some reason. He kept his eyes fixed on the blue lights as the hot tears rolled down his cheeks in the clammy night air.

He didn't feel like going out. The grocery store would be air-conditioned, yellow-lit. There would be oily steel counters and doors with plastic windows and dusty linoleum floors. The cash register would beep merrily and the grocer would probably be friendly. More importantly, nobody would try to hit on him. Nobody would force their tongue into his mouth, confusing him with feelings of arousal and revulsion, awe at being kissed by a demon and unease, wondering how Sam would react when they debriefed one another, wondering if he should omit that part. He did.

Of course, if he went out, he might meet some interesting people. His mind drifted to that bar in Tennessee. _"You look like a candidate for some kinky stuff." "Sorry lady, not my thing. And I'm pretty average, if that's what you're getting at."_ He was being modest, of course. Despite the awkward start to their conversation, he'd genuinely enjoyed talking to that woman - she was weird, but intelligent, fun, and kinda bitchy. She'd known he was pranking his 'friend,' but she'd played along admirably.

Before she left, she'd said to him privately, _"I'm not going to ask about y'all's relationship unless you want me to," _to which he'd grinned, _"Definitely not," _as he caught that gorgeous brunette's eye. But the highlight of that evening had been the look of discomfort on Sammy's face...

Dean chuckled, wiping his cheeks.

_Nah, Sam will probably be cool and hold off on the 'philosophical chat' for right now. _He decided to grab beer and spend the night with his brother.

The moist air was heavy against his skin. Oppressive, smothering.

When he got back, Sam was on the floor.

...


	13. Chapter 13 (-S2E10-)

[Set _during _Season 2, Ep. 10 - "Hunted"]

...

"Sammy, please, talk to me man."

Sam was silent.

Dean tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. "Look, why don't we get some sleep. I mean, we've missed plenty in the past week, huh? Hell, I'm tired."

He glanced at his little brother. Sam's jaw was set. He was staring out the window at something Dean couldn't see.

"Okay, sunshine." He borrowed Sam's phone with the silly GPS application and typed in 'motels.' It beeped:

**.1 Miles - The Velvet Inn**

"Home, sweet home," he pulled off the road as it started to rain.

...

Dean brushed his teeth, turned off the lights, stretched drowsily and sank down onto his bed in underwear. Sam was lying on top of the bedspread, four feet away, pondering the opposite wall. He still hadn't spoken.

_I can't fucking take any more of this._ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself - _For what I'd do, how far I'd go... _he shivered.

"So what, you're never gonna talk to me again?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.

"No."

"Well, that's a start. From there you can move on to phrases with three or four letters." He walked over to Sam's bed and sat down next to him. "What's your favorite four-letter word, Sam?"

"Dean-"

"Wow, really?"

"No- I mean... Shut up," Sam rolled his eyes.

"Ah, Sam, they don't teach you anything at Stanford. 'Shut up' has more than four letters."

"Dean... what do you want?"

He thought for a minute. "Two first-class one-way tickets to Cancun with two beautiful flight attendants on a private jet and those mini sandwiches from that deli near Chicago..." he trailed off, eyes glazed.

"Why do you need two tickets?"

"So you can come, of course."

Sam sat up, dangling one leg over the side of the bed. His toes brushed Dean's calf. "What if I don't wanna come?"

"It's all hypothetical anyway."

"Would you still go?" Sam's face looked gaunt, drawn in the green afternoon shadows.

Dean shrugged. "Probably not."

Sam was quiet.

Dean shot a look of openmouthed exasperation at the ceiling, then flopped over Sam's leg, grabbing the remote off the nightstand. The TV flicked on to show grainy boats and water. It appeared to be a documentary on animals. _What are they doing? _Dean peered at the screen in fascination.

"Oh, God, Dean..."

"It's dolphin sex, Sammy," Dean turned to him, grinning.

Sam looked like he was trying really hard not to smile. "You are deeply weird." He stole the remote and turned the television off. "I mean it. Your eyes were fucking _sparkling _when you said that."

Dean froze. "My eyes don't sparkle."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Um. Hey Dean, do you trust me?"

"Dude, no chick flick moments." _What the hell kind of question is that all of a sudden?_

"Just, I need to know. Do you?"

He hesitated. Sam was looking at him intensely. "Yeah. I trust you Sammy."

"So... just trust me, all right?"

Dean scowled. _What's with this cryptic bullshit__?_ "Fine. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying to protect you."

"That's pretty ironic," Sam said quietly.

"Why, because you think you're going to turn into some psycho-killer whack job? Sam..." he felt incredibly tired all of a sudden. Sam's face was blank, distant, closing him out. _Fuck this. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, _Dean thought. He just wanted to get Sam's attention, or something... He kissed him on the mouth.

Sam shoved him away. "Dean, what are you-"

He tugged at the button on Sam's pants, unzipping them. Sam grabbed Dean's hands and held them up in the space between them, thumbs pressing deep into his open palms, cast digging into the side of his left hand. Sam was regarding him, silently questioning. Dean tried to smile but he didn't quite manage, and dropped his eyes. He felt his shoulders droop a little. Then Sam's hand was on the back of his head, strong, gentle, pulling them together.

The next few minutes were a blur - he was sprawling on Sam's bed and then they were on the floor and Sam was pushing something cold inside him with his fingers. He hadn't meant for it to go _that _far, necessarily, but there was no way he was backing down now. His vision got fuzzy as Sam touched him; he closed his eyes and tried to kiss him but he wasn't there anymore - he was pulling Dean up by his shoulders so he knelt on the scratchy carpet, grabbing his hips, drawing their bodies together, grinding against him. _Aww, he wants it. So cute, _Dean thought hazily.

Dean's sense-memory fired indistinct warnings as Sam pushed him onto his back - last time had hurt, and if that monstrously sized... thing was going in his ass again, he was going to be in control this time. He drew a shaky breath.

"Sam, don't," he said against his lips.

Sam stopped. _It's okay - _is it? - _just not like that._ He pulled Sam's shirt off, then pulled his own socks off so that they were completely naked, and let Sam kiss him deeply, running his fingers lightly down the planes of his muscular torso.

"You're right," Sam panted, "Not on the floor."

They tumbled onto the covers together and Dean managed to get Sam on his back. He sat astride him, holding him down with his weight. Sam raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. Dean couldn't look away from his eyes for some reason. Sam's fingers were inside him again and _fuck _that felt good; he groaned and touched himself. Sam kept his gaze steady, reflecting none of the embarrassment Dean felt.

Sam sat up. Dean hesitated - _s__o humiliating - _then crawled closer. Their noses touched. He slowly lowered himself onto Sam's erection.

Dean shuddered - it felt weird and full and deep - but Sam's expression made him move. He lifted himself slowly, and let that stiffness plunge into his body again, and again. Sam brought his face down with one heavy hand behind his neck, kissing him hard, other hand squeezing Dean's ass possessively. Dean steeled himself and continued to move, gasping against Sam's mouth from the pressure on his insides. He wasn't going fast enough.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, I know. Just do it already."

Sam lifted him easily by the hips and laid him on his back, spreading his legs obscenely. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Holding his thighs so his ass was in the air, Sam rammed into him. Rough, fast. Dean saw stars.

He slung one arm over his face, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't cry out at the heaviness moving inside him. The rushing sensation was building in his blood.

Sam paused and leaned over Dean's chest, nudging his shoulder into the back of Dean's leg.

"Dean?"

He moved his arm a little to see what was happening.

"Hey... you wanna stop?"

Dean shook his head, No.

Sam looked concerned. His bangs were all sweaty. Dean grinned.

He pulled Sam close. "Harder," he whispered.

And then it was slow, and gentle, and sweet.

...

The rain fell softly outside the window. The streetlights, raindrops, and shades conspired to cast mesmerizing patterns on the wall.

Sam's good hand traced some design down Dean's back. He didn't moan with pleasure or anything, _because that would be cheesy. And my butt hurts. _He turned his face sleepily against Sam's other arm, inhaling the warm scent of his skin, and chuckling to himself. From this vantage point, everything looked amusing.

"Where do you wanna go tomorrow?"

"California," Sam deadpanned.

"No, seriously," he said through a yawn.

Sam kissed him between his shoulders. "Why don't we think about that later?"

"Okay," Dean smiled. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

...

Dean woke up aching, but happy. He wasn't really sure why at first, but remembered as he pulled his underwear on. He needed a shower.

He rubbed his eyes and looked over at the other bed. "Sam?" _M__ust be in the toilet. _He smirked, padding over to the door to harass his brother.

"You're such a girl, Sammy, spending so much time in the bathr-" he stopped as he pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty. "Sam?" he whispered at it.

"Sam!" he tore through the motel room, looking under the beds, then rolled his eyes at himself. _Yeah, as if he's down there. Maybe he just went for coffee? _But Sam's backpack was gone. _Think, Dean, he can't have gotten far. _The keys to the Impala were on the table.

_Why didn't I wake up?_

He stepped outside, trying not to panic. Sam wasn't there. Someone whistled at him and he looked down at himself. _Clothes, Dean, you need to wear clothes._

He yanked open the closet door, knocking over a mess of wire coat hangers. _Fuck. Never should have taught him that trick. If he's got a car, he could be anywhere. _He fumbled for his jacket, dropping his phone - "Shit, come on, Dean!" - and started to call the operator, then hung up on the first ring and called Bobby.

"Bobby, I fucked up. Sam's gone."

"What did you do, boy?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Bobby was silent for a moment. "What do you need me to do?"

...

It was a great day. Clear, bright. He felt lightheaded.

He found himself in the car, driving back to the river they'd talked by the day before. _No way he's gonna be there, though. _And he wasn't.

Dean got out of the Impala and slammed the door. He squatted by the water. "Sam, where are you?" he asked it.

It was beautiful. It mocked him.

_I couldn't have done a better job of driving him away._

"Shit." He passed a hand over his eyes and sat down on his ass, hard, grimacing in pain.

...

He was lying on his back in the dirt, staring up into the blinding sunlight. Slowly, as if he were in a dream, he dug a hand into his pocket and fished out his phone. He'd called Bobby ten times. The last time, Bobby had snapped at him, "Dammit, Dean, I'll let you know as soon as I find out about that stolen car, but I can't get any work done if you keep calling me!" His voice had dropped low, then, filled with sympathy. "Dean, I know you miss him-" Dean had pressed the END button.

He scrolled through his contacts, wincing when he got to "E." He pressed SEND.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Ellen?" he said hoarsely.

"Dean... what's wrong?"

"Ellen, I have no right asking you this, but please."

...

[Continue Season 2, Ep. 10 - "Hunted"]


	14. Chapter 14 (S2E10)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 10 - "Hunted"]

...

Iowa was endless farmland, and Nebraska was even more spread out. _Like freakin' Kansas, _he thought distractedly.

Sam had filled him in on electro-boy, and Ava... From what he said, Ava sounded pretty normal - less Mad Max, more Andy. _And Sam. _Dean grimaced, ignoring the squirming sensation in his gut. So Andy and Ava were okay, except now Ava was missing, and the evidence they'd found at her house hadn't told them jack squat about where she might be. Dean didn't know what was going on in the creepy demon world, or how big of a crush Sam had on Ava, but he hoped, for Sam's sake, that she didn't turn up dead. Or worse. And Gordon...

_"Your brother's fair game."_

He had to know. If other hunters were getting the same bright ideas as Gordon, he would deal with them... by whatever means necessary. Sam could lay low while Dean was scoping the situation out. He had some Roadhouse contacts that might be useful, not to mention Ellen. _I should probably thank her..._

"You've been quiet," Sam nudged him.

_Hang in there, Sammy. We'll be there soon. You can get some rest, re-charge. Find out what we're dealing with before we go on some 'rescue mission.'_ He knew that whatever had made Ava disappear might be interested in Sam, too.

Sam sighed. "Dean, come on."

"What?" Dean glanced at him. Sam looked restless. "Sam, you're worried about Ava. I get it. But think about it - if whatever did that to her boyfriend was gonna gank her too, why didn't we find a body?"

"I don't know." It sounded vaguely ominous.

"Hey, you like her, huh?" he said neutrally, changing the subject.

Sam raised one eyebrow. "Are you jealous?"

"Nah. She is kinda hot though."

"Her fiance just _died_, Dean. Why are we even talking about this?"

Dean shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the odometer.

Sam watched him carefully, a smirk beginning at the corners of his mouth. "Anyway, you know that's not what I meant."

"Oh. Well, then, I have no idea what you're talking about." He smiled uncomfortably and flipped the radio on.

_- Radar Lo-ove -_

"You do that when you're avoiding something," Sam was grinning now.

Dean wrinkled his brow. "Yeah, good point," he said, turning the volume up.

...

As they turned down the final stretch of road, Dean pulled off. Outside the globe of the headlights, they were surrounded by darkness.

"Hey Sam," he said quietly. "I need you to keep your head down while we're here."

"Dean-"

"I mean it. Don't do anything stupid."

"Dean, I'll be fine."

"Right," he murmured. He couldn't meet Sam's eyes.

"I'm going to start searching for Ava. See if Ash can dig up any leads."

"Demonic omens?"

"For starters, yeah."

"Uh, yeah, that's a good idea. Hey, speaking of, why is it so easy to take cases lately?"

"Wait... now you're saying it's _easy_ to take cases?"

"No! No. I mean, just, after that showdown last year I figured hordes of demons would be tracking us down, you know? Trying to get some action," Dean made a lewd gesture.

Sam was not amused. He thought about it for a moment, frowning. "I don't know. Maybe it's like... the calm before the storm?"

"Sam," Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You'd be a fine meteorologist."

Sam gave him a withering look. Dean smiled inwardly as he pulled back onto the road.

...

The Impala stopped in front of the Roadhouse at 0250. Ellen was sweeping the front steps. She shaded her eyes, squinting into the headlights, fingertips brushing her handgun. "That you, Dean?" she called as he got out.

"Hey Ellen. We needed Ash to, uh, find us something evil to hunt," he fibbed, smiling broadly. "Real dry spell lately."

Ellen narrowed her eyes at him. To his relief, he felt Sam come up behind him.

"Sam," Ellen said gently, looking them over. "Good to see you boys together again."

Sam gave her a tight-lipped smile, dimpling his cheeks. Dean recognized his expression as respect laced with annoyance. _He used to give Dad that look._

Ellen was unfazed. "Y'all boys can head in, I'm almost done out here."

Dean started in after his brother, but Ellen stopped him. "Knock that mud off your boots, Dean. I just swept there."

Dean made a face, but he did as he was told.

...

The three of them sat behind the empty bar, drinking and talking. Sam didn't say much but he seemed okay. Ellen gave him a key when his eyes started to glaze over. _Lightweight, _Dean thought, smirking.

"Y'all boys can have that room for about a week this time." She glanced from Sam to Dean. "I know you've got a lot to look into."

"Thanks, Ellen," Sam said, getting up slowly. He gave Ellen's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then laid a heavy hand on Dean's head. "Night, Dean."

"Handsy drunk," Dean muttered.

...

"So, what's going on between you two boys?" Ellen's voice was gravelly, but kind.

Dean stared at the stains darkening the surface of the bar. "Hell, I don't even know."

She watched him closely. "Well, nobody's perfect."

"What do you mean?"

She thought about it. "Your daddy, he used to come by sometimes. Before my Bill died."

Dean nodded.

"We really were just friends," she looked down, "for most of that time."

"Shit," Dean breathed.

"You got that right," Ellen said. She grabbed a bucket of soapy water and began scrubbing the bar vigorously. Dean watched her movements and realized he knew exactly how she felt. He stood, stopping her weathered hands and wrapping his arms around her. She didn't hug him back, just stood there. Bill was gone. She'd made a mistake and she could never apologize. She hated herself for it.

She pulled away. "I'm okay, sweetie. That was a long time ago."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, it went against my better judgment, even back then. But I trusted your daddy because-" She stopped herself. "Sam asked about it. Don't get me wrong - John was a good man."

"And Sam-"

"Sam's a helluva lot like him."

Dean closed his eyes. "I know."

She shook her head. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

He leaned back against the damp bar. "What am I supposed to do, Ellen?"

She was silent for a moment. "Well, you can't change who you are. You boys are close." She dropped her voice, even though they were the only ones in the room. "And between you and me, there ain't nothing wrong with that." She winked at him.

"Gross." He wrinkled his nose, feeling oddly at peace.

She tossed down the dishrag. "Anyway, you're not gonna listen if I give you advice."

"Ah come on, Ellen," he rubbed his eyes.

"Sweetie, it's way past your bedtime."

"Yeah, screw it," Dean said casually.

Ellen raised her eyebrows._  
_

"All right, all right!" He grinned and headed for the door - the idea of disobeying Ellen gave him scary chills. Then he turned, and, in the most manly way possible, said, "Ellen... thanks. Thanks for everything."

She nodded, brown eyes warm. "I won't charge you for that bottle in your jacket..."

Dean did a celebratory fistpump.

"...but if you steal from me a third time, I'll hunt you down."

He ducked out quickly, eyes huge. As Dean locked the door to the spare room behind him, he realized Sam had left it unlocked. He frowned.

...


End file.
